


Hades, God of Death

by I_am_the_Muse



Series: Tales of the Gods [4]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, This is longer than I was expecting it to be, damn i'm good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_the_Muse/pseuds/I_am_the_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He grew tired of the darkness. He never said as much, but you could see it. You could see it in the way he watched over his domain, the exhaustion in his dark eyes. The way he’d run a hand through his sleek black hair, leaving it rumpled and untidy. His thin black robes seemed to weigh him down, his broad shoulders would slump at the thought of watching over the dead, screaming souls. You just wanted to make him forget all his troubles, make him think on something else. The only thing that would ever make his spirits rise was her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hades, God of Death

He grew tired of the darkness. He never said as much, but you could see it. You could see it in the way he watched over his domain, the exhaustion in his dark eyes. The way he’d run a hand through his sleek black hair, leaving it rumpled and untidy. His thin black robes seemed to weigh him down, his broad shoulders would slump at the thought of watching over the dead, screaming souls. You just wanted to make him forget all his troubles, make him think on something else. The only thing that would ever make his spirits rise was _her_.

You were not her. You looked like her – that was why he granted you the cursed life you live. Your long brown hair and your eyes, eyes that he would stare into when you made love with him. But he was never staring at you. He was staring at _her_. You were simply a body that he could place her face over. And sometimes he did.

He’d cover your eyes with silk ties so you couldn’t stare at his sharp cheekbones; he’d chain your hands to the wall so you couldn’t caress the taut muscles of his chest and stomach; he’d cover your mouth with rope so you couldn’t cry out his name, or moan out your pleasure. You may look like her, but you didn’t sound like her.

And every time he fucked you whilst you were so immobile, he’d stroke your skin, bite marks onto your flesh and whisper lovingly in your ear. It breaks your heart. Even if you resented him at first, you found yourself falling in love with him. You loved him so dearly that you never complained when he cried out her name instead of yours when he reached completion. You loved him so dearly that you never let him see your tears when he pushed you aside when she came to visit.

You loved him so dearly that you never spoke, never broke the illusion of being Persephone for him when she was away. It was a cursed, lonely life you lead.

You’d watch on, masochistic as you are, when he made love to Persephone. You’d feel shame when you felt yourself grow wet at the sight of them together, at the sight of him losing himself so fully for her. But even that didn’t stop you from bringing yourself orgasm when you were alone in your room and you could still hear the way he moaned loudly. So loudly it seemed to echo in every place of the underworld.

When you come from those thoughts you cry; cry for your unrequited love. Persephone, so full of light and love and good things. She knew nothing of what went on in the underworld. She knew not of death and hardship and broken hearts. Sometimes you hated her for it. You hated that you had there for him when she left; you hated that Hades would use and abuse you as his play thing because he couldn’t have her.

You hated him for not wanting you, and for cursing you like this, and for not loving you like you loved him. And most of all you hated yourself. You hated the way you _knew_ that even if you had the opportunity to leave him you never would. You would never be able to leave him alone in this dark place full of the echoes of lost souls screaming in agony. Your heart, much like Persephone’s, was much too full of love to leave him to such a cruel fate.

And again, tonight was such a night. You felt yourself full of hatred and self-loathing after you came across them so lovingly draped across one another. You knew that she would leave soon and he would come to you with his broken heart and break your body in the process. But you were the undead, and were never broken for long.

You didn’t bother to watch him say his tearful goodbyes that night. Instead you made your way straight to his room. You stripped yourself of the robe he’d given you so many millennia ago and undid your hair so that it may flow around you just like Persephone’s. For a moment you considered taking the blade that lay next to his bed and cut it all off. Perhaps then he would free you from this curse and send you back to the waters of the damned.

But that would mean leaving him, and you know you’d rather have your heart broken a hundred times over before you’d ever leave him.

You stood in front of the wooden block he so liked to bend you over and fuck you whenever Persephone first leaves. That way he’d never see your face, only your hair and your body and he could pretend his love was still with him.

Already you felt tears welling up behind your eyes at that thought. You bit your lip in an attempts to stop those traitorous tears and spread your hand over the block, almost about to assume the position without him even being there. To you there was no point in waiting for his order, you knew the routine by now.

He’d come in, melancholy as always, and fuck you until he orgasmed so many times until he was so exhausted that all he could do was sleep and leave you to clean up his mess.

It was because of this habitual knowledge that you were not surprised when you felt his hands on your hips, even if you didn’t hear him enter his room. What surprised you was that he did nothing other than that. He just held onto you and seemed to stare at you. In the earlier days you might have turned your head to see what was wrong, but you knew from experience that he didn’t take kindly to that.

“I am a monster,” he murmured. You weren’t sure if those words were meant for you to hear or if he were simply pretending that you were even there.

He draped himself over your back, and his hands moved up and to wrap around your rips, just below your breasts. You felt your heart speed up at the strangeness of it all. He was still completely clothed, and his robe whispered across your skin, causing you to shiver minutely.

“I _am_ a monster,” he murmured into your ear this time. One hand began to creep down your stomach and over your mound before he began lightly touching your clitoris. The squeak of surprise you were going to let out was caught behind your teeth as you bit into your lip to stop the sound coming out. You knew that he didn’t like it when you broke the illusion.

But still he caressed your cunt, dipping his long dexterous fingers inside and digging his palm against your clit. You dug your fingers into the wooden block, trying so hard not to make a sound. You found yourself hating him again at this new torture. He hated it when you cried out his name, hated it when you did anything that wasn’t what Persephone did, and yet here he was seemingly determined to make some kind of sound come out of your mouth.

“It’s what you think, isn’t it?” he asked calmly is he began pushing three of his fingers in and out of you rhythmically. Pain shot from your lip as you bit down so hard that it began to bleed. You would not break whatever spell he’d decided to spin over himself. If he thought that Persephone thought him some monster, then so be it.

“Why will you not say anything?” he asked again, and this time you could feel his hardness digging into you’re your lower back, his cock almost slotting into your crack. “You used to make such sweet sounds.”

He began to gently thrust against you as his hand continued to bring you closer to completion. His other hand came up to your mouth and he seemed to still momentarily when felt the blood dripping down your chin.

“Do you hate me that much?” he asked, almost sounding sad as he rubbed two fingers into the blood coming from your lip. “Is this life with me so much of a burden to you?”

He brought those blood covered fingers to your nipple and began to play with it. Rubbing over it, pinching it, before kneading the breast itself. It was becoming harder for you not to make a sound. The hand at your cunt had begun to move again, and you felt your legs start to quiver. He’d never brought you to completion before – at least not intentionally. Tears began to fall as she tried so hard to keep silent. It was so cruel of him; so cruel to look at you and only see Persephone; so cruel of him to make you feel like this, even though he imagined you to be another woman; so cruel of him to place the expectations of a goddess over your once mortal head.

“Say something,” he said, and became more vigorous with his ministrations, both on your cunt and your breast, “For the love of Zeus, _say something_!”

“ _Hades_!”

You couldn’t help it. You let out a long, breathy moan as you felt yourself squeeze the fingers that were inside of you. You came, and came _and came_. It felt so wonderful, and still as you orgasmed he continued to caress you, continued to prolong the ecstasy wracking your body. You sobbed, not meaning for it to sound so broken and you fell forward, resting the sweat-slicked chest on the block, your head hanging limp over the edge of it, and you sobbed.

You no longer felt his hands on you, and you felt so disheartened and ashamed of yourself. Ashamed that you had broken his delusion, and ashamed that you felt that way at all.

Suddenly you were lifted up into his arms and he placed so unusually delicately onto his bed. You kept eyes shut as your sobs subsided, and the pain of biting your throbbing lip helped stop the tears from falling. It mattered not since the damage was already done.

You heard him take of his robe, heard the soft rustle of it hitting the floor, and felt him gently move the hair from your face. Still you couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t dare to, but you let him open your legs, let him stroke your still quivering thighs. When he touched your entrance, another disobedient whimper left your mouth at the sensitivity that you felt.

“Do not censor yourself this time,” he pleaded, and touched your lips with his thumb until you granted him entrance. Immediately you sucked on the digit, unable to stop. He groaned when he felt your tongue caress it and began slowly thrusting it in and out of your mouth. “I must have you.”

He pushed his cock into your cunt, but not as roughly as your were accustomed to. He was slow and patient, and you he moaned every time you squeezed when he moved deeper inside of you. You were whimpering and your hips made jerky movements. You were desperate to get him inside of you; desperate for the God of Death to fill you with his cock and with his seed.

“Patience,” he admonished, though the admonishment held little power when he thrust in that last inch and began moving without warning.

The thumb was removed from your mouth and you felt him kiss your swollen, bleeding lips. Your eyes snapped open, and you felt your body go deathly still at the shock of it. The god seemed not to notice your shock, only starting to kiss your unresponsive lips more insistently and his hips picking up the pace.

You began to his him back and let your eyes slowly slip close. Your hands came up first to his shoulders before slowly moving to his neck. One hand slipped behind to caress the hair at the back of his neck and grip it tightly as you felt heat pooling in your belly once more.

You began moaning into that kiss, began thrusting your hips up to match the increasing pace he set. He stopped kissing you as he began panting with exertion, his eyes wide open. You gasped at the beauty of them.

He’d never before given you the chance to see his eyes so closely before. They were so unbelievably beautiful. So full of green and blue and an ocean of colour. Death was not for those eyes; those eyes belonged to the earth and the sun and the sea full of life.

When he came, he cried out your name so loud, it seemed to echo in all the places of the underworld.

**Author's Note:**

> So here is the fourth instalment of the 'Tales of the Gods' series, or whatever I called it. Once again, I take actors who I think match the description of certain gods or could and then I write some smutty one shot. I'd like to also get into writing about the goddesses, so if you have any suggestions on actors/gods just comment and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.
> 
> I'd also like to thank CloudySky for the Benedict Cumberbatch idea.


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